With You
by ForsakingSilence
Summary: After a severe beating by Rumplestiltskin, all Killian Jones wants is to be left in peace, but when a certain sheriff wanders out to the Jolly Roger, things...well...happen, forcing the notorious Captain Hook to reevaluate his actions. Oh, and his feelings for...Hey, Beautiful. *Outlined by the Linkin Park song, 'With You'. My take on some missing time in 2x11*
1. Day Dream

**Chapter 1**

'_I woke up in a dream today, and put my cold feet on the floor'_

Killian Jones lowered his weight into a chair, wincing. Beneath his open shirt, his left arm and chest were badly bruised. Deep purple welts, red and black at the edges, striped his skin. In a few days, they would turn an ugly greenish-yellow hue –healing, but ugly. Rumplestiltskin's cane did wonders to flesh. Thankfully, his shoulder had buffered the blow meant for his head, leaving him with a throbbing gash above his eyebrow instead of a split skull.

Captain Hook received one hell of a beating. Years spent plotting revenge on the _Crocodile_, and all he could show for it was a headache and sore ribs.

He gingerly touched the cut. The bleeding had stopped, the salty harbor air helping to dry out the wound. He knew he should clean it, but he didn't care to move. The excess blood on his temple was drying too, leaving his skin stiff and itchy. Killian hefted his booted feet from the floor with a grunt of discomfort. Everything hurt. Crossing his ankles, he set his heels atop the blanket of charts and manifests covering the mahogany table in front of him.

He rested below decks, listening to his ship groan. The tide was flowing into the bay, lapping at the hull and putting a strain on the mooring lines. He imagined the creaking ropes, thick as his leg, tugging at the pilings that secured the Jolly Roger to the dock. Ropes no one could see. Cora's spell hid the ship from prying eyes, but thanks to the Cricket's escape, half of Storybrooke would know where he was before nightfall. He would need to lay anchor elsewhere to discourage visitors.

At least the Dark One would not bother him again. The Belle girl made sure of that. The woman of his enemy; he owed her his life and, begrudgingly, his respect. Such a tiny creature, her catching him off-guard not once, but _twice_, was impressive. Even more impressive was her ability to see him as he truly was.

Soulless. Rotten to the core.

Carefully reaching for the bottle of rum on the table, Killian snagged the glass handle with his hook. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he drank. The raw liquid trickled into his mouth down his throat, warming the pit of his stomach. It would be good to get stinking drunk. He could pass out and forget about today. Forget about the unexpected relief he experienced when the Dark One tried to kill him.

Damn Belle. She should mind her own business.

Killian closed his eyes against the pain in his head. He felt tired –tired of waiting for the egregious hole in his heart to heal as his bruises eventually would. He was hollow inside. No one could help him. He couldn't even save himself.

"_Take me with you."_

_Killian blinked, letting a beat pass before answering with a succinct, "No."_

_The woman at his side moaned softly in protest, burying her face in the crook of his neck. She smelled of sweet-grass and sunshine and a hint of mead—someone who spent most of her time outdoors in the warm air, but recently came from the tavern. Her lips pressed tenderly to the underside of his jaw, and he realized, with a smirk, she was trying to change his mind._

_Silly lass, it wouldn't be that easy._

_His fingers ceased stroking her bare shoulder. Untangling himself from her body, he sat up, putting distance between them to strengthen his point._

"_A ship is no place for a woman." _

_The look on her face was pathetic but determined. Rolling onto her stomach, she tucked a strand of hair behind one ear, supporting herself on both elbows. "I have a place here." Her hand brushed his arm. _

_Her caress burned him. She was different from the other women he'd known –she could belong aboard if he allowed her. _

_No. _

_Killian halted the notion. He wouldn't be manipulated, he would be firm. _

_He sighed. Who was he fooling? It was the expression in her eyes that won him from the start. She was so lonely—a familiar concept. He always knew it would end this way. "What about your life?" _

_She frowned. "What life? I hide my face in humiliation wherever I go. I'm trapped inside four walls made of stone and sheep dung. I have _no_ life, and no one to share it with!"_

"_What of your husband?"_

"_Him?!" She laughed, turning onto her back. The bed frame creaked under the force. "He's a bloody __awful coward!"_

_A smile ghosted his lips at her choice of language –his influence. For a grown woman with a child, she hadn't known much when they first met. He was almost sorry for sullying her. To be fair, she had asked him, just as she was asking now._

"_He does not love _me_," she continued. "I became what he wanted, to please him when we wed. I was stupid and naive. He doesn't know who I really am, and he will not listen either. I've begged him to take me someplace we could start afresh, without shame. The village is a prison, and he has no courage to go anywhere new. Every day I remain…"_

_She fixed him with those sad eyes that needled at his better judgment. "I'm suffocating, Killian. Please, by the gods, save me."_

_Killian studied her thoughtfully. She was so proud, so beautiful; her hair black as coal tar, her complexion rosy and smooth as silk. He had seen the husband, and he empathized with her plea. What a waste of a woman._

_It was a terrible curse to be unloved. What else could he do but rescue her from such misery?_

_He anticipated consequences for this decision. Sleeping with another man's wife and stealing her were two separate things. The second made him a target for a vengeful husband, even for the local coward. _

_But Captain Killian Jones could manage. He usually did._

"_Very well, Milah. If that is what you wish." He dragged his fingertips across her brow._

_Milah smiled, closing her eyes at his touch. "Save me." _

Killian awoke, disoriented and achy. His feet, cold and numb, thudded to the floorboards, and he straightened upright. The rum bottle in his hook clunked against the chair leg.

When did he fall asleep? And more importantly, why was he now wide awake?

Something had drawn him away from Milah, and if he found out what it was…

"I'll kill it."He grumbled, rubbing his hand on his face, grimacing in the late afternoon light slanting through the cabin windows behind him.

"Hook!"

Killian sucked in a sharp breath at the name, and let it out slow. The voice was responsible for waking him. He was certain. Muffled by the thick timber walls, it called to him again from the dock, and this time, he recognized it.

He must still be dreaming. It couldn't possibly be…

"_Swan?"_

* * *

**TBC! Hey guys, I'm a little late, but in honor of Colin O's b-day, I thought I'd post something new! As usual, I own nothing but the writing ;)**


	2. Pretender

**Chapter 2**

'_Remembering I'm pretending to be where I'm not anymore'_

Killian unbolted the latch and shoved open the hatchway door. A gust of cold air struck his face. The coamings—a raised wooden frame around the hatch—kept water out in a storm, but did nothing to stop the wind. He paused on the steps unprepared for the chill, regretting the decision to leave his coat behind. He contemplated going back for it, but Emma's irritated shout changed his mind.

"Hook, I know you can hear me. Front and center right now, buddy, or I swear you're in for a world of hurt!"

He grinned at the threat. Touching the curve of his hook to his chin, Killian recalled Lake Nostos. At the portal, Emma had proved she had no qualms about causing him pain, and, despite being cold-cocked into oblivion, he couldn't deny having enjoyed her efforts. She was fun in a tussle. He knew Emma would find him eventually, or freeze to death trying. Giving himself up now was the best way to save them both from 'a world of hurt'.

On deck, the weather had gone from dreary, to blustery hell. Wind clawed at the rolled sails and whipped through the rigging. The ropes zinged. Tackle and blocks knocked together with loud, hollow, pops. Even the seagulls had abandoned flying, resorting to bobbing up and down on the white-capped bay. Lucky for them, the water was probably warmer.

Killian approached the starboard railing. His shirt plastered across his chest, pulled by unseen hands. He was bloody frozen, but for a moment he forgot about the pins and needles in his extremities. Emma stood on the dock below, facing the invisible hull, her hands in her coat pockets, her nose crinkled –frustrated.

It was the first time Killian had laid eyes on her since the Enchanted Forest, and she looked stunning. Her skin was blanched porcelain white in the bleak light; her long blonde hair was pale yellow. As a bonus, her cheeks burned an attractive red in the bitter air. He watched her lips part and guessed her teeth were chattering. His were, too. He considered inviting her aboard and warming her up, but decided against it. Meeting her on the pier, and telling her to "shove-off" in no uncertain terms was best for everyone. It would keep things simple. Unattached. And he needed that.

Killian's gaze swept her from head to toe, and he wondered. What made him want her gone so badly?

The question remained unanswered. A movement farther up the dock distracted him, and he spotted a swirl of purple smoke aft of the ship. His teeth clenched at the sight. The tendons in his neck tensed.

Auburn hair trussed atop her head, the only person—aside from the Dark One—in the entire world he couldn't stand, suddenly emerged from the violet mist.

Killian wavered on the deck, unsure. He saw Cora's eyes came to rest on the unwitting sheriff. A part of him demanded action –to warn Emma. It would not be hard; a quick shout would do the trick, to let her know the danger. A younger, more reckless, version of him would have intervened, but _this_ version of him had wised-up in the last few centuries. This version didn't pretend to be a hero. He had nothing to gain by warning Emma, and being in a new kingdom, meant there were new rules. His current motto was strictly: non-interference –except in matters concerning the Crocodile.

"Hello, darling."

Cora's voice carried. Killian watched Emma turn her head, her body gone rigid in shock. He understood her surprise; Cora was the last person she was expecting to see. But by the time her hands tore free from her pockets, it was already too late. A burst of magic hit Emma square in the chest. The explosion threw her backward, slamming her down at the edge of the dock. She rolled. Her foot struck a nearby lobster trap. The crate teetered and fell, splashing into the water.

Killian winced. Emma would be joining him on the bruised and battered brigade. He saw her struggle to recover her feet, and silently willed her to stand. The wind had clearly been knocked out of her, but to his aggravation, Cora showed no mercy. With another twist of her wrist, she wrenched Emma clear of the pier and high into the air, sending her somersaulting into the bay.

_Bloody hell!_

The bonds inside him snapped, and Killian took off running. His boots clapped the decking as he navigated his way to the bow. Hooking one of the ratlines attached to the bowsprit, he hauled his weight up onto the forward rail. Planting his legs apart for balance, he stood looking down. The water gurgled and churned. White foam rode the grey-green swirls. Emma should have resurfaced by now, spluttering, and angry as a wet cat. But there was no sign.

Something was wrong.

His fingers uncurled, deciding his next move. Killian released the rope, and drew a deep breath, aware he was breaking his rule. But why? All this personal risk for a damned blonde he barely knew? It bordered on heroic.

_Or moronic. _

The choppy waves capping the bay rushed up to meet him. Killian gritted his teeth and dove in.

Figuring out right-side-up was the easy part, finding Emma was another story. It took him precious seconds to get accustomed to his murky surroundings. The sunlight lancing the surface in pallid ribbons did little to help. Thankfully, he had been right about the water. The temperature was tolerable, but he wouldn't want to linger. His foot found the keel, and he pushed off, propelling himself downward. A stream of bubbles escaped his lips, and the salt stung his open eyes. To make matters more difficult, his bruised shoulder throbbed in protest with each broad stroke.

Time passed infinitely slower underwater, and after what felt like forever, Killian found her. Her eyes closed, face serene, Emma drifted, suspended in a shaft of light that turned the world a greenish-brown. Three hearty kicks, and he reached her side. He hooked the back of her coat, pulling her to him. Sick of holding his breath—he was damn near dizzy—he turned them both around and headed for the surface.

They broke through, the water parting in belligerent waves around them. The cold air slapped Killian in the face again, and it hurt to breathe. Dragging oxygen into his straning lungs felt like swallowing needles. His heart was beating a mile a minute.

Killian remembered to shut his mouth, but not before swallowing the whole sodding ocean. He choked on the bitter brine, and worked to hold Emma's head above water. She was completely conked-out. They were a mere six yards from the dock, but toeing Emma's weight seemed to double the length. When he managed to shoulder her onto solid ground, he finally decided he hated everything about Maine: the water, the wind, the nosy sheriffs —everything!

Cora stood watching as Killian hefted himself out of the bay, scrapping his knees on the barnacled piling, to collapse on his stomach in a wet heap at her feet. "Bravo, Captain." Her shadow blanketed him, and he shivered. "I came to offer you some advice, but what a divine little show."

"What?"

He coughed and forced his limbs into submission. Sitting up, he rolled Emma onto her back. They were both soaked to the skin, but she looked like a drowned rat. Putting his ear to her lips he listened.

Nothing. Not a whisper.

His fingers, chalk-white and shaking, strained to unbutton her coat. Killian found her neck and searched for a pulse. He felt a faint beat, but it was fading.

He panicked. "Fix it."

"Pardon?"

Anger scoured every nerve. The cold in his bones evaporated.

"_Fix it!" _Killian bellowed. His hand shot up, and he grabbed Cora's arm in a vice-grip. In a single motion, he yanked her down and pressed his hook to her throat.

They were nose to nose above a dying Emma. Killian, dripping, stared daggers into Cora's kohl-rimmed eyes.

Killian's jaw flexed. His steel dug into her wrinkled flesh. It took all his control not to rip open the blue-green jugular vein exposed on the side of her neck. Cora may not have had a heart, but this time, no magic would save her from his wrath.

This time, he had the advantage. And she knew it. "You did this to her," Killian said. "Now fix it."

Cora's lips clamped defiantly together.

"Do you trust your spells are quicker than a flick of my wrist?" He asked. His voice dropped an octave. "I don't."

Cora glared, and Killian imagined himself as bait on his own hook. By the look on her face, she would throw him to the fishes the instant this was finished. Goodbye Crocodile, hello sharks, but for the moment, he had her whipped.

Extending a hand, Cora let it hover over Emma's motionless chest, and Killian saw a glimmer of blue beneath her palm.

Seconds later, Emma started coughing. Her throat gargled, and she gagged up a mixture of salt water and bile. Killian released Cora and moved to steady her head, keeping it from banging on the damp dock.

"Easy, love, easy" He said. She moaned and relaxed. Her breathing settled, and her eyelids fluttered, but she remained unconscious.

"Hmm, I guess I threw her harder than intended." Cora stood, smoothing her skirt.

Killian rolled his eyes. _Damn straight. _"Will she wake?"

"In time, if she doesn't freeze first. My, it is nippy out here."

He did not know what disturbed him most: Cora's evil glares, or her sickly-sweet small talk. Killian pulled himself into a crouched position. The witch was right. Both he and Emma should be somewhere warm, and quickly. Gathering a limp Swan in his arms, he shoved them to his feet with an awkward grunt—she was heavier than she looked—and started for the gangplank. A foot from his target, Cora suddenly materialized, blocking his path.

"I should kill you," she said. "But I believe your schoolboy crush is affecting your judgment, so I think I'll wait and see how you behave once you've gotten this," she waved a hand indicating Emma, "_infatuation_ out of your system."

"And what do you suggest?"

"You're the pirate, dear, be inventive."

Now it was his turn to glare. "I wouldn't hold my breath."

"Oh, I'm not worried. You'll come back to me. You always do."

Killian wished he had gone with his first instinct and ripped her throat out. But it was too late for that now, and with Emma cradled like a baby against his chest, all he could do was flash a charming smile. "Please, _Majesty_, if you'd be so kind...?"

Despite his cordial behest, Cora didn't budge an inch.

"Hook, take my advice," she said softly. "You should kill the girl."

* * *

**TBC! Thanks for all the reviews, favs, and alerts. You guys rock! And thanks to _Lena_, for her thoughts on Milah/Hook -Captain Swan forever! :D**


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